


Love Bomb

by mechanicaljewel



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Antagonism, Dirty Talk, M/M, Movie: Skyfall (2012), Oral Sex, Riding, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva had acquired many dangerous weapons over his years as an international terrorist. Bond discovers that 'dangerous' doesn't always mean 'deadly'...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in my [quasi-fix-it universe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2806148), where M takes Silva back before he tries to kill her. 
> 
> Written for a prompt some nonny gave me on Tumblr.

Though Silva was immediately cooperative when being interrogated— no, “debriefed”, as M insisted on calling and maintaining this charade— there was understandably still quite some hesitation when it came to actually letting him back into active service. But when the matter of retrieving contraband (jewels, gold and silver, weapons and components, stolen artworks, and God knew what else) from his various warehouses, storage units, and safe deposit boxes, it often only made sense to let him go along. Not only were biometric scans a security feature of many such locations, he also admitted that he wasn’t 100 percent sure what was in each vault, but would probably know when he saw them.

"It’s a ploy," Bond insisted to M when she announced her intention to allow Silva to be part of the contraband retrieval team.

"Double-oh seven, thank you for volunteering," she replied curtly.

Taken aback slightly, Bond responded, “Volunteer? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

"Really? I thought for sure I had simply taken a shortcut through our conversation to its only logical conclusion. After all, I know you wouldn’t question my judgment about such matters as when to put a long inactive agent back into the field," she threw him a significant look as she continued, "Nor would you insult me as to imply I had not considered every possible outcome of this mission, and you were about to put yourself forward as the double-oh to be assigned to the team, authorized to take decisive action if— and only if— Silva were to manifest intent to harm Britain or her interests."

Bond processed this information and realized, “I’m to be his babysitter.”

"Yes," M replied, with a subtle whiff of smug satisfaction.

~

When they arrived at the Swiss bank where Silva claimed to have a whole vault of his own, the bank manager informed the team that he was sorry, but bank policy allowed no more than two people in the vault at a time, only one of them would be able to accompany Mr. Silva. No one dared challenge the deadly glare Bond threw at the rest of them, and the two men were led to Silva’s vault by the bank manager personally.

It turned out not to be so much a vault as a whole bay of safe deposit boxes complete with a table and chair for inspection of one’s valuable possessions. The bank manager indicated a button next to the door to press when they wanted to be let out, then left them to it, the door sealing electronically behind him. The safe deposit boxes came in varying sizes, each one, going by the shiny black square on each handle, could only be opened by an authorized thumbprint. Bond and Silva were going to be there for some time.

"Couldn’t you get my thumbprint added to your account or something?" Bond inquired, irritated at the thought of having to wait for Silva to go one by one through all of them.

"Do you have at least five forms of identification on you, at least three of them government-issued?" Silva asked.

Bond thought about it, “Technically all of the documentation I have is government-issued.”

Silva rolled his eyes and let out a sharp huff of breath. “It doesn’t matter, there’s still a two-week activation period.”

Bond cursed M inwardly for saddling him with this lunatic. “Fine,” he said firmly. “Then you are going to open each box one by one. Then you will stand next to the table and you are not to move as I take thorough inventory of each one before we move on to the next. Are we clear?”

Silva looked at him with barely concealed affront. “Oh yes sir, Mr. Bond, sir!” he replied with defiant amusement in his voice. He raised an eyebrow at Bond, who had never wanted a razor as much as in that moment, though whether for Silva’s brows or throat, he could not tell.

After going through about fifty of the at least three hundred safe deposit boxes— Silva opening each one, Bond removing the inner container, both of them walking over to the table, Bond removing each item individually, taking a photo, typing out a description on his tablet with each photo (often having to ask Silva for information, which he either gave with a full five-act production of what it was and how it came to be in his possession, or noncommittal “Pfff,” a shrug, and a dismissive wave of his hand)— Bond caved and let Silva go around opening the rest of the boxes at once, while Bond brought their contents to the table for Silva to inventory in blessed (relative) silence. To his credit, Silva would tell Bond when he had finished with each box, allowing him to review both the lists and the actual items to verify it was all there, before Bond took each container back to its hole in the wall. He would still have to pat Silva down before they left, just to make sure he hadn’t concealed anything from other boxes when Bond wasn’t looking. Bond tried not to think of the show of enjoying the pat-down Silva would make.

When Bond was reviewing Silva’s inventory of Box 269, he stopped at the picture of a plain stainless steel canister that Silva had simply labeled “Love Bomb”

Bond rapped the real thing sharply with his knuckles, releasing a dull ringing sound. “I know it’s been a long day, but be serious, what is it?”

"It is what I wrote, James, a love bomb. Surely you’ve heard of some of our American cousins’ more… _creative_ ideas for nonfatal weapons? It’s hardly a secret— it won an Ig Nobel Prize in 2007 and was mentioned on QI if you don’t believe me. They swore it was just some passing fancy in the mid-’90s, based on the idea of pheromones and just one of many ideas involving all sorts of bodily odors…But this is the 2009 model.” he smirked at Bond before continuing his oration, “Still experimental, but no longer based on pheromones. That contains high concentrations of aerosolized bremelanotide and testosterone. So tap it again, James, and let’s see what happens,” he said lasciviously.

"Like you need it," Bond scoffed.

"Not in present company, no." He fixed Bond with a cocky, self-assured gaze.

Bond returned the gaze defiantly before leaning over him and bringing his face down to Silva’s level, their lips mere inches apart. “I thought I made it clear back on your island,” Bond murmured in a breathy, seductive voice, “That two can play at this game.”

Silva chuckled. “Oh James, what a great…ego you have.” He leaned away from Bond’s face just enough to make eye contact again. “I actually find you utterly repulsive, and no amount of aphrodisiac and sex hormones could change that.” He raised an eyebrow and gave Bond a self-satisfied smirk.

 _That fucking eyebrow again_ Bond reached around the back of Silva’s head and grabbed a handful of his absurdly blond hair, pulling his head back sharply. Now Bond stood completely over Silva, one leg on either side of the chair, his lips hovering only an inch or so above Silva’s. “Now who’s bluffing?”

"So you _were_ bluffing then.”

"Wouldn’t you like to know? Why not press the button on that canister and we’ll see who’s really bluffing?"

Silva sighed, “Oh James, I know it must be devastatingly difficult to believe that not every one wants your cock, but it’s your ego on the line, not mine.”

"What about your pride?"

Both were silent for a few moments, their lips mere centimeters apart, the tension hanging thickly between them. Then, in a split second, they both grabbed for the canister. Their fingers grappled as their thumbs vied for the button while pulling it back and forth. Then Bond yanked his arm back as Silva let go. The momentum of Bond’s arm caused the canister to fly out of his hand across the room, slamming into the wall of iron doors before clattering to the floor. They both froze, holding their breath and listening.

And then they heard it, the tell-tale hiss of aerosol escaping uncontrolled from a fissure in the canister’s hull.

"I'd really prefer you get off me now, Mr. Bond, before you go mad with lust," Silva said calmly.  
  
"You really think that's going to work on _me_? For _you_?" Bond replied coolly.  
  
"You were the one so eager to try it, to give yourself the excuse, no doubt."  
  
"I thought it was because of my ego."  
  
Silva shrugged. "It can be both--" he stopped short, closed his eyes, and swallowed with his lips clamped tight.  
  
Bond knew why. He was getting hard too. It was like every nerve ending in his body had come alive and been transformed into an erogenous zone. All his blood rush south as the rest of his body pulsed with aching need.

"Please, James..." Silva trailed off.  
  
Bond looked down at him, as the blood rushed down away from his head. "What? Please _what_?" He said throatily. "What do you _want_ , Silva? What do you want _from me_?"  
  
Silva drew a slow and shaky breath. "Get off...oh god," he cried in what sounded like annoyance. "I want you to get off, I want to get you off. I want you to get off in me on me with me goddammit get your cock in my mouth right now!" Silva's eyes fixed on Bond's fly greedily.  
  
There was no sense of victory as Bond pulled down his fly and fed Silva his completely hard cock. He needed this too. His head fell back and he moaned as he felt Silva's lips close around him, so warm and wet, with his velvety tongue gently stroking just under the head. The hand entwined in Silva's hair loosened but did not let go. He wanted to hold his head in place and just fuck down his throat, but fucking hell Silva knew what he was doing.  
  
Silva pulled back just enough to wet his lips, then wrapped them tight around his teeth before taking Bond fully back into his mouth, firm yet gentle pressure sliding down the shaft of his cock, slowly guiding it down the back of his throat. He didn't gag, not even a little.  
  
"That is so fucking hot," Bond could not stop himself from saying out loud. Silva chuckled slightly, sending vibrations all around Bond's cock. He groaned, "Move, dammit. Suck me off, god, yes!" He fell forward and had to brace himself on the back of Silva's chair, his legs weakened almost instantly as Silva pulled back, lips tight around his cock, tongue pressing against the vein as it slid up to the tip.

Silva remained very focused on pumping his head up and down Bond's cock, his expression otherwise inscrutable. Was he acting purely on chemically induced lust or did even a small part of him really want this? Surely he had been bluffing when he said he was not actually attracted to him, Bond thought as he remembered the intense, hungry gaze Silva had regarded him with on his island... Oh god that was a terrible and fantastic memory to recall just then-- at that exact moment, Silva's tongue teased his slit just as delicately as his fingers had teased his Adam's apple.

No matter what Silva actually thought of him, one thing was abundantly clear-- he took great pride in his work, whether it was wreaking cyber chaos or giving head.

Bond raised one hand from the back of the chair. It trembled slightly as he moved it to rest on Silva's head, for the first time noticing how both silky and thick his hair was. He slowly started to tighten his grip on Silva's head, when Silva suddenly pulled off of him.

"Oh no," he murmured, still not making eye contact, keeping his eyes entirely on Bond's cock, sticking out from his open fly and the hole of his briefs. "You are not in charge here." He reached up and pulled down on Bond's trousers, pooling them around his ankles, then reached into his briefs and pulled out his cock properly before pushing them all the way down as well. Silva made a production of exposing him, squeezing and kneading his bare arse cheeks and rubbing his cheeks against Bond's shaft, the rough hint of a five o'clock shadow inducing another tidal wave of arousal, eliciting another moan.

"Fuck, Silva, fine, just do what you want!"

Silva chuckled in a way that should have unsettled Bond, especially given their current situation, but that same situation made it nigh impossible to care. "Oh yes, Mr. Bond," Silva's breath ghosted along the length of his cock; Bond couldn't really be sure he wasn't addressing his cock more than himself. "Leave yourself in my capable hands." Then, grabbing his arse cheeks again, Silva forced him to turn around, and Bond found himself braced against the table, his arse now in Silva's face.

Silva began caressing his buttocks in firm circles. "Mmm, yes this is what want from you," he purred. "Only an utter philistine would even attempt to deny the perfection of your finest attribute." He spread Bond's cheeks and slid his tongue slowly up his crack, feeling it out, as it were, giving a little extra pressure when he reached Bond's hole, sending a jolt up his spine. "Mmm," he vocalized in assessment, "James, bend over more. Rest on your forearms, stretch out your back." Bond obeyed as if on autopilot.

Finding his voice, Bond said half-taunting, "This is what you've been after since the beginning, isn't it? You've wanted to eat me, yeah? Wanted to bury your face in my arse and lick my hole?"

Silva gave his right cheek a sharp slap. "I've wanted to do _everything_ to your arse, and I very much intend to," he said before roughly pushing his cheeks apart and plunging his tongue right into Bond's hole.

Bond gasped at the sudden intrusion, but soon found a warm tingle spreading up his spine and throughout his groin. His cock twitched as Silva began fucking his tongue in and out of his hole, occasionally stopping just to lave at the tight ring of muscle on the outside. Until suddenly and without warning, he stopped entirely, making Bond look over his shoulder to figure out why. Silva, it turned out, was sucking on his middle finger. He made eye contact with Bond and began throwing him suggestive looks as he worked his finger in and out of his mouth, vividly reviving Bond's very recent memory of having Silva's mouth working him like that, sending another surge of arousal throbbing through his cock.

Finally, Silva slid his finger from his mouth and, not breaking eye contact for even a moment, began circling it around Bond's hole. And with a wicked and determined look, he plunged it inside Bond. Bond groaned loudly and his eyes fluttered. "Yes, you like that don't you," Silva murmured indulgently. "Like having me inside you." He hooked the finger slightly, just enough to start rubbing Bond's prostate lazily, infuriatingly. He moved his other hand to Bond's cock and began pumping it in long, even strokes. Moving both hands in tandem, combined with the effects of whatever had been in that canister, he soon found himself on the brink of orgasm.

"Please--" he choked out.

Silva chuckled. "You're so close aren't you? About to come apart on my fingers, to come all over my hand." He continued on relentlessly with both. "So are you begging me to push you over the edge, or do you want me to stop?"

"Don't--," Bond gasped. "Don't want to come. Yet."

"But you don't want me to stop?"

Bond shook his head. "Keep doing--something..." he trailed off.

Silva continued stroking as he appeared to contemplate their current predicament. "You know what I want to do to you right now?" he asked as he moved the hand on Bond's cock to cup his balls and began gently fondling them.

"What?" Bond responded deliriously.

"I want to take your balls in my mouth, while I fuck you with my fingers." He accentuated that final point with a firm press on Bond's prostate and stars exploded behind his eyelids. "I want to run my tongue from your balls to your hole. And then I wonder what would would happen then. Would I keep my fingers in you and just tease your rim with my tongue? Hmm?" He paused as if waiting for a response. "Would I let my tongue take over again?" Bond involuntarily clamped down around Silva's fingers in response, which visibly amused Silva greatly. "Or is it simply time to give you my cock?"

A forgotten strength reasserted itself in Bond, and he pulled himself off of Silva's fingers, straightened up, and turned around. "You think I'm just going to let you have your way with my arse like that? With what an arrogant shit you were being before?" Bond reached down to Silva's trousers and opened them, pulling out his hard, dusky red cock. Bond spit in his hand and roughly began stroking him. "You want this just as much, like hell I'm going to let you act like you're just taking advantage." In one movement, he stepped out of his trousers and straddled Silva's chair as he had been at the beginning of all this. But this time, he sank down, maneuvering Silva's cock into his well-stretched hole.

Silva threw his head back and moaned as Bond's arse engulfed him in its tight heat. Then looking Bond in the eye again, he panted, "Told you I didn't want your cock. Said nothing about your arse." He grinned back.

"Then why did you beg to suck me off, hmm?" Bond asked, flexing his muscles around Silva's cock. "Why did you say you wanted me to come _on_ you, hmm?" he demanded as he began unbuttoning Silva's shirt, his engorged cock slapping against Silva's abs as Bond revealed them. He thrust his hips up, rubbing his cock on Silva's torso while stroking up his cock with his arse. "I think you want all of it, don't you?" He leaned forward, trapping his cock between them, and wrapped his arms tightly around Silva's neck. "You want my cock rubbing all over you. You want me to cover you in my come." Bond rolled his hips again to accentuate his point.

Silva grabbed Bond's hips and looked him in the eye. "I want to know I made you come. I want you to show me how much you love me sucking your cock, eating you, fingering you, _fucking_ you," he drove his own hips up as he pulled Bond harder into his lap, cock sliding an inch or so deeper.

Using the back of the chair as leverage, Bond pushed off just enough to slam his arse back down on Silva's cock. "And I," he said as he started to really ride Silva, "want to watch the look on your face as I come all over you." In rhythm with the pump of his hips, Bond murmured, "I'll bet you'll come from having my hot. Fucking. Jizz. All over you." Bond suddenly became aware of the hard ridges of both their abs rubbing along his cock, and like hell he was going to let Silva get away with not having to contend with it. "Like my cock now?" Bond demanded. "Rubbing between us? Getting ready to shoot a hot load on your chest?" Silva shivered with pleasure and began thrusting up to meet Bond's riding him.

"I  _do_ love your cock, James," Silva purred. "I love knowing I made it so fucking hard and I'm the one responsible for making you explode."

"You didn't make me hard and you know it."

"Didn't I?" Silva asked innocently, belying the sharp thrusts of his hips. "Didn't I make you want to prove what a sex god you are? Didn't I let the love bomb go so it flew into the wall?"

As the whole truth of their current situation dawn on him, Bond moved his hips harder, faster, rougher. "You tricky bastard," he grunted. "You are going to pay for that."

"I am going to hold you to that. Now shut up and ride me, James, I'm so close and your cock is rubbing all over me and driving me crazy. And yes, if you came all over me, it would make me come, so fucking hard. _Shoot your hot fucking load all over me_."

After only a few more moments of Bond aggressively riding Silva's cock, come he did, coating their abs and chests in his jizz, and Bond watched Silva's expression become one of wild delight. "God yes, James!" he cried and shot his own load deep into Bond's arse.

Silva clung to Bond panting as they both came down. "Jamessss," he slurred deliriously into Bond's ear, "Please plot and execute your revenge with all deliberate speed..."

~

A few week's later, after an unrelated mission, Bond was in Q Branch returning some mangled hunk of metal which was probably supposed to do something pretty brilliant at one point. Q stopped him on his way out, "Double-oh Seven? A word?"

"Look, if you haven't have figured out by now that most things you build need to be able to withstand been dropped from a jet at 30,000 feet, I don't know what to tell you," Bond lashed out.

Q gave him a withering look. "Duly noted, but for once I was not to going to berate you about the state in which your equipment had been returned. It's not a matter of grave import, but some of the items from Silva's Swiss bank vault were recently delivered and one was in less than pristine condition. There was no damage mentioned on the inventory, so naturally we suspect it was damaged after the inventory was taken. It is more idle curiosity than anything since the nature of this item is designed to be non-fatal, but still, curiosity nags and niggles..."

"I'm sorry, was there a question in there?" Bond asked irritably, though he knew Q was on dangerously thin ice.

"Ah yes, does the phrase 'love bomb' ring any bells? Some kind of maybe not-so-theoretical weaponized aphrodisiac? It's just, if it was damaged in transit, I'm sure the CIA would want to study anyone who may have been subject to its effects. I don't suppose you could possibly shed any more light on the matter?"

"Can't say that I can," Bond replied coolly before turning to leave.

"It's just--" Q began. Bond froze in his tracks. "Silva said it cracked while you two were locked in the vault together, and that he shagged your brains out."

Bond took a deep breath before then slowly turning back around. "Well he would say that, wouldn't he," he replied flatly.

"Oh yes, I figured that," Q said in a carefree way. "After all, I've had a peek at the CIA's most recent dossier on the subject and according to them, they've yet to successfully provoke that reaction. So of course it didn't happen..."

Bond never wanted to smack the smirk off of Q's face as much as he did right then.


End file.
